


Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right

by jaytheforce



Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Liverpool, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, robbo is a knobbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29109330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaytheforce/pseuds/jaytheforce
Summary: It seems that every time Trent enters the training ground, he is instantly in trouble. It's clear from the word 'go' where the shots are fired from, but how can he put a stop to it?
Relationships: Trent Alexander-Arnold/Andrew Robertson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right

The music is blaring out of the changing room already. He can hear it from the moment he enters the building, but can't quite make out the lyrics, not even when he pushes the door open and the music is blasting right into his face. There's only a handful of people in there, so he's not sure why the music is even that loud to begin with. As soon as he enters, someone shouts his name – Robbo, always loud and always in your face – while Ox shifts to turn the volume up even higher. “What's all this?”, he asks as loud as he can without shouting, but no one seems to take any notice of him. Robbo's still in his face and now he can make out the lyrics, both because the Scot is shouting them right into his personal space and because his ears have adjusted to the volume (which is still insanely loud, by the way). “One kiss is all it takes, falling in love with me!” It doesn't sound as nice when shouted at him in a Scottish accent, but at least now he can see where this is going, and he rolls his eyes before pushing past Robbo to go get himself changed. Finally, the volume is turned down and he can actually hear the conversation going on around him. 

“...met at a bar...”   
“...and she never know who he was...”   
“...kissing and all sorts...” 

Cocking an eyebrow, he looks over at Robbo. “What have you been telling people?”   
Robbo raises his eyebrows right back at him and gives him a shrug that is not as innocent as the other man thinks it is. “I have no idea what you're talking about.” Such a bad liar. He knows Robbo is lying, because they had both been in the car when the text from his mum came through, asking if he was really seeing Dua Lipa. Robbo had given him plenty of stick at the time, but he'd throught that would be the end of it. Foolish mistake. It's a training session that he wants to put behind himself as soon as possible, with constant ribbing from the lads about his supposed new girlfriend and when they can meet her. He makes it through though, and all without giving Robbo a black eye. He feels like he should get a medal just for that. 

\--- 

They're on the coach on the way back from an away game when conversation really gets going. “Diogo wants to go see all the sights in Liverpool – where should he start?” Everyone chips in with their own suggestions of things they've enjoyed doing on their days off while on Merseyside, so he doesn't think he has to contribute. There's plenty of suggestions flying around already, anyway. Apparently not. Ox nudges him with an elbow and gives him an expectant look. “You're the Scouser. Come on. Best day out – shoot.” Looking up from his phone, he offers a shrug of his shoulders. He doesn't really know Diogo all that well yet, so isn't sure that he's the go to man at this point. “What about the Cavern?” Seemingly pleased with the answer, Ox relays it to Diogo and starts explaining about The Beatles and how they were discovered there. He's really only half paying attention as he's gone back to texting a few of his mates. When he gets another unexpected elbow to his ribs, he can't help but mutter a quiet _'fuck off'_ under his breath, and he looks up at Alex again, both eyebrows raised. “What?” Laughter. Always laughter. “Chill out, mate. We're just trying to remember the name of the last Beatle. What's his name again? John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and...?” He's not sure if it's a trick question or if they've all lost their collective minds. How is he supposed to know? He gives another shrug of his shoulders in a 'no clue mate, sorry' kind of way, but Ox isn't having it. “Come on, mate. Don't hold out on us now.” “Why don't you just Google it? I honestly don't know.” Apparently they're all out of signal, so no one is able to actually look it up and fact check. Convenient. “Maybe Robbo was right.” He turns his head to look at Alex at that, giving him a curious look. Since when has Robbo been right about anything? “You're not a real Scouser.” He rolls his eyes so slowly it's almost painful. “You know I'm a Scouser. You can bloody hear it every time I open my mouth.” Alex just offers a shrug of his own at that, and gives his shoulder a squeeze as he shifts to get out of his seat. “Someone said you just do that for attention. Putting the accent on.” Someone? Robbo. He whips his head around to try and spot him but can't see him anywhere. Can't even hear him, which is even more unusual. He'll just have to wait until they're back home before he kills the Scot. No problem. He's patient. He can wait. 

No sight (or sound) of Robbo as he gets off the coach. Highly suspicious. But it's late and he's tired, and he still has to drive back home from Kirkby. Who even thought moving the training complex that far out of the city was a good idea? Not everyone lives in Formby, you know. Not that it's a long driver, just... longer. With a sigh, he gets into the car and drives home. He forgets all about Robbo and his suspicious behaviour, and by the time he gets back to the training ground the next morning, he's not sure he could even pick the man out of a police line up, he's that insignificant to him. 

He stops short just before reaching his locker and frowns as he looks around the room. What a bunch of clowns he works with, honestly. “Who's done this?” The question hangs in the air as he indicates the red top hanging in front of his locker, draped over the top off it and spilling down so that he has to touch it in order to get to the handle. No answer, just lots of cackling laughs. Bastards. He pulls the sleeves of his shirt as far down as he can get them, trying to cover as much of his hands as possible, before he reaches up to push the shirt to the floor. Vile, disgusting piece of fabric. Its' the wrong shade of red too. Unnatural. As it lands on the floor, he kicks it away to the centre of the room and it lands right in fron of his arch enemy. Of course. “Did you not like your present, Trentski?” Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off. No one in their right mind would ever touch that. Except for maybe Marcus Rashford. He's sure that he's got a face like thunder, no doubt, and he's frowning hard as he looks at Robbo. “You're a knob.” Everyone knows it, because they heartily laugh along and agree loudly that yes, Robbo really is a knob. “Easy, tiger.” A loud laugh (always loud, so loud) and a quick ruffle of his curls. “Thought you'd like something to remind you of your hometown, that's all.” 

\--- 

He's picking at his food in the canteen when he feels a sharp prod to his arm, and he shifts to look up, his eyes connecting with Milly's. “How old do you actually think I am?” The question comes at him from out of nowhere, so he doesn't really know what he's supposed to say, and he gives a quick shrug of his shoulders to try and brush it off. Milly doesn't look like he's going to let it slide though. “I mean, I don't know... exactly. Why?” Nervously, he bites down on his bottom lip, not liking the look that he's getting from Milly. “Stop spreading rumours then.” He barely has time to give Milly an acknowleding nod before the other man storms off again, and he gives another shrug of his shoulders as he catches Hendo looking his way. He honestly has no clue what is going on. 

It doesn't take long before the captain moves over to him. “What did you actually say? He's been upset all day.” He meets Hendo's gaze but shakes his head at him. “I don't know what he's on about. Honestly.” Hendo doesn't look at all convinced, but he has no clue what is going on – so what is he supposed to say? As he leaves for the day, he notes that at least no one else is in a mood with him. Small victory. 

He doesn't take any notice of his surroundings when he arrives to training the next morning. In all honesty, he's too tired to do a once over of the room. Who decided that training has to start that early in the morning anyway? Once he's changed, he sits down to dig his boots out and starts lacing them up quickly. He's got his eyes on the task at hand, and doesn't see his team mate marching over, so he starts once something is flung at him. Frowning, he looks up and is yet again met with Milly's icy stare. “It's not funny anymore. Just stop putting things on my locker.” He can feel his frown deepening, and he gives James a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?” “Save it.” Two words, then the vice captain is gone again, as quickly as he approached. He's still unsure what's going on, so he reaches for the glossy paper that was thrown at him, but has now fallen to the floor. As he turns it over in his hand, he can see that it's a sticker with the number 40 on it. He swallows as he looks over at Milly again, but the other man is defiantly not looking in his direction. 

“You are so screwed.” It's a whisper in his ear at the end of the session, and though the culprit is long gone by the time he's whipped his head around, he can still hear the Scottish twang bounce around in his head. There is no doubt about it – he's being framed. 

“Can you just tell him that you did it?”, he asks Robbo as they head out to the parking lot after showering and eating. “Did what, my friend?” He's not racist in any way, but he's starting to dislike Scottish people with a passion. It's a wonder that he even lets Robbo climb into his Merc. He drives in silence, both to annoy Robbo and because he doesn't actually have anything to say to him at the moment. “Come on, lighten up. It's just a practical joke.” “You didn't have to cover his whole locker in stickers though.” A quick glance over at Robbo and the other man just offers a shrug by way of explaining. “I'm not getting you a cookie today. You're the one who said he was pushing fourty, not me.” There's more silence, but when he looks over at Robbo he can see that the other man is struggling to hold his laughter in. Bellend. 

\--- 

“Fuck off.” The words shoot out of his mouth instinctively as he sees a pair of feet moving dangerously close to the dashboard out of the corner of his eyes. Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, he reaches out with his left hand and gives Robbo's leg a few choice punches. Of course, the Scot starts moaning about him being abusive right away. “Show some respect, mate. I've told you a million times that you can't put your feet up. That's proper sly.” 

He sends Robbo in to collect the food in the guise that it has already been paid for. Of course, it hasn't been and he gets an earful as Robbo gets back to the car, moaning about how Trent never pays for anything and how it's unfair and actually, they're not equals. He only listens with half an ear, knows Robbo can go on for a while, and is surprised to find that the other man's gone quiet by the time they get back to his place. He normally goes on for a fair bit longer than that. “You're alright?”, he asks as he looks over at the other man and is only met with a shrug. It's not until he turns the key in the lock to let them inside that he is met with the _'you're paying next time, you tight bastard'_. Fair enough. 

A few days later, while he's having lunch with Curtis at the training ground, a note is passed to him. As he looks up, he is met with the sight of Bobby's dazzling smile, and he raises his eyebrows as he meets the Brazilian's gaze. “What's this?” A quick shrug from the other man as he points to the note in Trent's hand. “Someone say you can get these things. We're hungry.” He starts nodding his head slowly, completely confused about what is going on, and looks over at the table that Bobby's gesturing towards, where the rest of the Brazilians have all gathered. They are all giving him hopeful looks, and he nods towards them before casting his eyes over the note in his hand. _Chicken butterfly, wing roulette, wraps, mushy peas, spicy rice..._ Still confused, he shows the note to Curtis who looks equally dumbfounded. “Is this a shopping list?” “Looks like it.” No help there. With a sigh, he pushes out of his chair and heads over the Brazilian lads again. They have clearly lost the plot. Insane, the lot of them. “Lads, what's this about?” They all look between themselves, seemingly surprised that Trent is surprised, and eventually Ali is the one that speaks up. “We want to try your restaurant. The one that you like. Robbo said you have the card, the black one, and you don't have to pay.” 

The confrontation is swift. As soon as he spots the back of Robbo's head downstairs, he's all over him like a hawk. “You know I don't have a Nando's black card.” He's worked up from the confusion of it all, and all Robbo does is laugh in his face, which doesn't exactly improve his mood. “Payback, baby.” That's all he can get out of him, and he's quite frankly fuming. Payback?! He's never done anything. Robbo's the one that always gets him in trouble – always. It takes all of his strength not to smack him in the face right then and there. 

To show that he's a good sport, he does bring the Brazilians their chicken dinner the next day. Naturally, they're all delighted. He will admit to it giving him a nice feeling, doing something good for his mates, but breaking the news to them that he can't get free food at his favourite restaurant – no matter how loyal he is to the cause – doesn't seem to surprise them in the least. “Robbo said you would be mad. It was a funny joke though, no?” No. No, Fab. It was not funny. He lets out a fake laugh to let them know that it's all good, but as soon as he's walking away from the table he's plotting his revenge on Robbo. 

\--- 

“Say that again, but slowly.” It takes all the strength that he can muster this early in the morning to not roll his eyes as he shifts in bed to face Robbo. Another feat of strength and he has managed to rearrange his face to put on a more serious look. It's all ruined a moment later though, as soon as he opens his mouth to speak he starts laughing again. “I can't do it!” “You were doing it fine just last week.” He knows that Robbo is just goading him, and that he would like nothing more than to laugh at his feeble attempt at a Scottish accent. “You're not gonna film it again are you?” A non-commital shrug from Andy is not what he needs right now, and he nudges the man next to him. “No phones allowed.” It's not until he's pinching Robbo's nipple that he gets an _'okay, okay, fine'_ accompanied by both a laugh and a moan – which, you know, is good to know for next time. Another attempt at a serious facial expression, and the wise choice not to look directly at Robbo's expectant face, and the words _'ice cooler'_ are out of his mouth. It takes about a nano-second before Robbo bursts out laughing, and he gives him an unimpressed look. “That was good!” When he doesn't get any encouragement from Andy, he grabs the pillow from behind his head and smacks it in the other man's face. That will teach him to shut up. 

He's still in a huff when they get to the training ground, and doesn't protest when Robbo runs off ahead of him. As he gets into the changing room, he is caught in a headlock by Virgil. “So, our man tells us that you do a pretty good Scottish accent. Is that right?” Frowning, he pulls away from the other man and turns his head to find Robbo in the room, glaring daggers at him. “You're going down.”


End file.
